


On your lips

by Sylvain_is_a_puppy (Lunaticality)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: A lot of kissing, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Illustrations, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Pre-Time Skip, Under the pretense of "greeting", mainly just fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:13:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25600381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunaticality/pseuds/Sylvain_is_a_puppy
Summary: It's a Faerghus tradition for males to greet each other by kissing on the lips.Felix feels that Sylvain's kisses are getting out of hand.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 52
Kudos: 244





	1. Chapter 1

On most days, it happens early morning on the training ground.

Felix lowers his sword when he hears a familiar voice calling his name. He shifts his grip and gives it one last swing, the tip of the thin blade barely scratches the surface of the straw dummy, missing by a hair’s width. There’s something satisfying about the sound of sharp metal cutting through air, like the beauty and elegance of a well-crafted weapon. To him, at least; people see beauty in different things, and this is his vice.

Felix hums. Today is one of those days when the sword feels particularly right in his hand, an extension of himself with nothing short of perfect control. Felix takes pride and joy in being precise with his weapon, in knowing exactly where it will touch and where it won’t.

He walks to the rack and puts his sword back next to the wooden ones. When he’s done, the source of the voice from earlier has crossed the training ground and reached his side. Felix turns around and lifts his chin up.

“Good morning, Felix.” Sylvain puts a hand on his cheek, leans in, and kisses him.

Felix naturally closes his eyes as the other’s lips meet his. They remain in contact long enough that Felix can’t help but registering the unique softness and warmth of human flesh—when touched, not hit or slashed. Sylvain’s lips spread against his own; they feel even softer, the gentle movement accentuating their plumpness. When the contact is gone at last, Felix opens his eyes and sees Sylvain smiling.

“You are in a good mood today.” Sylvain’s hand lingers just a second longer, his thumb and index finger catch a little bit of skin as they pull away, in the faint resemblance of a squeeze. Felix lets it slide; he’s not wrong about Felix being in a good mood. Sylvain tilts his head and studies the other with great interest. “Something good happened?”

“Training went well,” Felix sniffs, “you wouldn’t understand.”

Or maybe he does, just from a very different perspective, because on less lucky days Sylvain gets an earful of how he should take his trainings more seriously. Sylvain grins, today not being one of those days. “Ah, that. And I thought you finally begin to appreciate my friendship and are just happy to see me.”

Felix frowns. That’s a weird way to phrase it.

But Sylvain says weird things on a daily basis, plus Felix is in a good mood, so he pays it no mind. He even lets his touchy-feely friend wrap an arm around his shoulder, albeit only for a little while, shrugging it off once they are out of the now empty training ground.

It’s still quite early. The dining hall is relatively empty and doesn’t smell overwhelmingly of food yet, with only a couple of students scattered around. No line has formed for the first batch of freshly made breakfast; Felix gets his, and sets his plate on the empty end of a long table. Sylvain follows and sits next to him.

“Any plan for the weekend?” He flashes a smile.

“I was asked to join the Golden Deer for a field task.” Felix responds flatly.

Sylvain lifts one eyebrow. He looks like he wants to ask more about it, but he is interrupted when Dimitri and Dedue walk over and sit across from them. No greeting kiss is shared for the record, because they are eating and it would be gross. Sylvain raises his hand in acknowledgement. Felix simply nods.

The boar never comes to him if Felix is by himself, which in all honesty is good judgment, because things are still tense between them and neither knows how to defuse that tension very well. Professor once made the mistake of inviting only the two of them for dinner, and Felix could see regrets written all over that usually emotionless face.

So as a matter of fact, now is a good time because even Felix knows he can’t completely fall off with the head of their class, the future king of his country; if some form of communication has to be made, it’s more sufferable in a group, with someone who knows how to smooth things over.

“Professor is not dragging us out for battles again this week, right?” Sylvain, their designated conversation facilitator, glances over at Dimitri.

“Those battles are helpful, Sylvain.” Dimitri gives him a stern look, to which the redhead only grins in response, knowing full well that the prince cannot lecture him for twenty minutes when Dedue and Felix are also here. Dimitri resigns as he quietly continues, “Claude told me his class are going to investigate a forest near the Alliance’s border. There have been sightings of beasts.”

“Beasts?” Sylvain almost chokes on his food, “half of these students never had real battles with humans yet. We just got here.”

Dedue nods in agreement. “It’s dangerous.” He casts a wary glance at his prince.

“Well, they have three days to get ready.” Felix snorts. They’ve been here long enough, if only people have been training as hard as they should.

“Wait,” Sylvain’s gaze turns sideways back to Felix, “is that the task you are helping with?”

Felix nods. He watches as Sylvain uncharacteristically wants to say something but holds himself back. Sylvain and Dimitri look at each other across the table, silently exchanging whatever is on their minds.

They end up not making any further comments on the topic, which is wise, because Felix is fully ready to snap if either one of them tells him to be careful. Or not to go, but Felix doesn’t believe they would be _that_ stupid.

It’s Sylvain who fulfills his duty and breaks the silence again. “I didn’t know you could invite students from other classes like that,” he shrugs, “no one ever invited me?”

“I wonder why.” Felix sniffs.

“Whatever, Felix, you know that I’d much prefer to stay here and entertain the ladies.” Sylvain raises an eyebrow and smirks, “you go have fun with the beasts, just be careful out there. I heard they bite.”

It’s either the tone or the context, but in any case Felix doesn’t snap.

“You know what?” Sylvain twirls the fork around his fingers and continues brightly, turning back to the prince across the table, “you should ask our professor to invite some girls from other classes, too.”

Knowing all too well where this is going, the rest of the group readily reach the unanimous decision to ignore him. Three heads drop in unison and none of them speaks, each silently working on his own plate of food.

“What? We have fewer girls than other classes to begin with and it’s not fair! We need a healthy balance!” Sylvain protests, offering valid points although no one even bothers to argue with him.

Felix feels a little bad for treating Sylvain like that after what he’s done to carry them through the conversation, but oh well, it can’t be helped. He brought that upon himself.

It is a Faerghus tradition for males to greet each other by kissing on the lips. But in reality people do it differently, and Felix wonders if he’s the only one who wishes there was some sort of official guidebook on how to do it the right way.

The first question is frequency. Living together in the Academy, students from the Kingdom obviously don’t kiss every single time they run into each other. For example, between him and Sylvain, it happens once a day when they first meet, which is usually when Sylvain picks him up at the training ground and drags him to breakfast. On the days when they are out on a mission, Sylvain would come to his room when he’s ready and they’d share their greeting kiss there, before heading out together.

Felix isn’t entirely sure if “every day” is too often. He suspects that it is, because back home even his father and brother didn’t kiss him every day. But again, he doesn’t know if that’s because they are family, with whom less greetings are needed.

There’s no way to know for sure how often other people kiss. Felix can’t tell if Dedue and Dimitri kiss at all; he has never seen it, and Felix himself never kissed Dedue because neither of them cares to initiate it. Felix knows that the Duscur giant tolerates their stupid tradition only because he saw him and Ashe kissing once, the young archer artfully balanced on his tip toes and lifting his head up like a sunflower.

Dimitri as the head of the class still greets their professor with a kiss on everyone’s behalf, even though Byleth’s first introduction to the Faerghus tradition was nothing short of an awkward nightmare, in Felix’s fair and objective opinion. Byleth doesn’t kiss anyone but Dimitri, and no one else tries to kiss him.

Felix has shared greeting kisses with the boar and with Ashe, but only occasionally, when the circumstances absolutely compel it. The prince is very cautious not to cross Felix’s short temper, and the archer simply feels more at ease with a simple hand wave.

In short, no one kisses him as persistently as Sylvain, who seems to consider this not only as a daily thing, but a daily thing that _has to be done_. This has led to some outrageous results, one of which happened on the day when Felix was called for a task on short notice and they didn’t get to see each other all day. Felix was utterly exhausted when he sunk into the bed upon returning to his room, and was more than ready to call it a day when someone knocked on the door.

Felix even had his hair down already, and he would have totally ignored it if wasn’t for Sylvain’s particular way of knocking, although that only made him all the more irritated. “What?” he dragged himself up and jerked the door open, voice a bit soft because of sleepiness, but also extra grumpy because, well, sleepiness.

Sylvain’s eyes expanded in surprise and froze for a short second as if he didn’t recognize the very person he had come to meet. Then slowly the corners of his lips twitched up and a weird smile spread across his face. Felix was about to ask what that fucking face was for when _he_ was the one coming up with a visit at such late hour, but in the blink of an eye Sylvain’s features were too close for him to properly focus. He felt a hand circling his ear and fingers lightly brushing through his hair, then a warm and soft thing over his lips.

Felix closed his eyes begrudgingly. He could be asleep right now if not for the unnecessary impromptu visit. He didn’t believe the greeting tradition could be stretched this far, but he was too tired to argue.

“Good night, Felix.” Sylvain whispered softly with a mischievous smile, before he turned around and gleefully fled to his own quarters.

Felix groaned in annoyance as he closed the door. He did have a good night’s sleep that day, apart from a lingering feeling of _something_ over his lips that he couldn’t get rid of.

Felix was fully ready to give Sylvain a piece of his mind the next day, only to have second thoughts at the very last second. It would be much easier if he could just point to a guidebook, or threw one at Sylvain’s face, and tell him with definitive authority that he’s been doing it wrong. But what if Sylvain was right, and he’s the one overthinking it?

So in the end Felix decides to put up with it, as long as Sylvain doesn't get completely out of hand.

The field mission was horrible.

Reports of sightings of beasts don’t always lead to direct encounters, although this one did, but that wasn’t the horrible part.

Felix didn’t suspect much when the beast shook off Claude’s arrow without the slightest pause. Claude was a skillful archer but he lacked physical strength, so it didn’t really surprise Felix that his arrow couldn’t hit hard enough for what looked like a gigantic lizard covered in tough shells.

It was only when Felix’s tried to cut those shells with his own sword that he realized something was off. His blade was caught mid-air, inches away from the beast, and it felt like striking into an invisible shield of sand, one that absorbed the entire momentum of his swing.

 _Immune to physical attacks._ Felix hurried to pluck his sword out, but the beast’s fist was already in the air, its huge shadow looming over Felix’s head. It was too late to get out of its range.

“ _Down!_ ” He heard a voice shouting from a distance and dropped to the ground almost out of instinct, barely in time to dodge a hellish heat wave that shot right over his head. The fireball hit the monster in its guts, and amid furious flames emerged another arrow, this time aimed at the beast’s neck and piercing so deep into the flesh that the feathers almost entirely disappeared into its body. Disgusting green goo oozed out of the wound, and the beast lifted its body up, howling in agony, its front legs covered its face in a gesture that was strikingly human.

“Now!”

Felix didn’t need any instructions; his body was already on the move.

Felix trails near the end of the group as they march back to the monastery. In the end he almost single-handedly gutted the beast, but that came only after a close call that was both utterly unnecessary and way too close. If it hadn’t been for Lorenz’s magic, he’d be severely injured and that’s if he’s lucky.

It was horrible. A complete failure in his book.

Felix wants to put part of the blame on the Golden Deer people, because they fight very differently from his fellow lions: people from the Alliance are cautious, self-preserving, and they fight without the zealous determination to _win_ that Felix himself is so familiar with. They approach the battle as if it was a problem to be solved, not an honor to be vindicated, and they would not hesitate to retreat if fighting puts themselves at too much of a risk.

In contrast, Felix was reckless, cocky, his imprudence almost cost his life.

Maybe he has grown to rely too much on his fellow classmates, in a way that Felix wasn’t fully aware. He was able to charge headfirst into the enemies and unleash his full power only because they would look out for him; they’d protect him at all costs and without hesitation, even when it means putting themselves in danger.

What a bunch of fools.

The group has entered the iron gate and is marching across the marketplace now. There’s a sense of relief floating in the air, of adrenaline dissipating and of feet dragging heavier as they finally arrive at home.

Felix’s gaze flies up the stairs to the entrance hall and involuntarily catches the blaze of red hair. Sylvain is standing near the gate and chatting with some girls, but he looks distracted, constantly glancing outside and making too many hand gestures to cover for his restlessness. His head turns again and stops as he recognizes the incoming troop. He cranes his neck to search through the crowd, and soon enough his gaze falls upon Felix.

Felix can’t tell if they’ve locked eyes from such a distance, but he chooses to err on the side of caution and looks away, suddenly taking an interest in the blacksmith’s stall.

When he looks up again, Felix catches what seems like the end of a short exchange between Sylvain and Lorenz at the front of the group. Sylvain pats the mage on the shoulder and lowers his head to whisper something, then he turns and sees Felix, this time unmistakably locking eyes. “Felix!”

He watches as Sylvain skillfully cuts through the stream of people and moves towards him. Out of nowhere it reminds him of a scene from one of those stupid chivalric romance, where the princess eagerly waits for her beloved knight to return from battle, and she runs out of her castle upon hearing the news just to be reunited with her lover a little sooner.

“Felix!” Sylvain calls out again as he rounds the last person between them; he rushes towards Felix, his legs manages to come to a full stop when he’s only one step away so that he wouldn’t knock Felix over, but his arms carry the same momentum as they sweep the shorter male into a tight hug. Before Felix could react, Sylvain pulls back from it, cups Felix’s face in both hands and kisses him.

It all happens so fast that Felix has to close his eyes after their lips are already touching. Sylvain’s lips push into his, then they relax a little, only to push into him again, catching his lower lip in between Sylvain’s, the smooth movement creates a wave of warmth and softness that washes over the physical exhaustion and leaves him with a strange fuzziness inside.

After a few back and forth like that, Sylvain finally lifts his head. Felix opens his eyes and looks at the man in front of him, half a head taller and with shoulders broad enough to shield him completely, his large hands covering his entire cheeks plus the sides of his neck.

Felix can’t help but think that Sylvain would make one hell of a princess.

He watches the taller male calm down from the heat of the moment, who visibly starts to feel a little embarrassed. Sylvain withdraws his hands and puts them on his hips, his eyes flicker down to somewhere around Felix’s chin. “Hey,” he says with an awkward smile, forcing himself to look Felix in the eyes, before quickly dropping his gaze again.

As if all that was just greeting. Felix would have pointed it out, but his thoughts flash back to their conversation at the dining hall; Sylvain was worried about him, rightfully so, and he acted like a fucking brat.

“Hey.” Felix ends up playing along. He owes him that much.

That night, like most nights, Felix tries to organize his thoughts as he lies in bed and stares at the ceiling, making a mental map of where to focus on in future trainings. But he fails miserably, his mind insistently wrapped around a collage of images that keep changing—a lot of them have Sylvain in it, and others are about that ridiculous chivalric novel he read ages ago. He didn’t even like it back then.

After what feels like an hour of fighting with his own head, Felix gives in. Reflections and training plans can wait; he needs to sleep now.

He turns to lie on his side and buries his face in the pillow, letting the soft sensation takes his mind to wherever it wishes to go.

Felix wonders if it’s too late to backtrack and call Sylvain out for his blatant abuse of their greeting tradition, since playing along proves to be the wrong strategy when it comes to the unsavable troublemaker that is Sylvain Jose Gautier.

His kisses are getting completely out of hand. It’s never a quick, simple peck anymore; now it always involves some kinds of movement—dragging, brushing, nibbling, sucking—and it _lasts_ , for seconds on end, long enough to turn heads, not only from students of other classes but also of their own, from people who are from Faerghus, who _know about the damned tradition_.

Not that Felix cares about being seen. It just proves that Sylvain is clearly over-doing it.

Felix was going to talk to him, honest to Goddess, but before he got any chance, the whole Miklan incident happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!  
> It's my first time posting an ongoing work and I do the drawings myself, so please consider leaving kudos/comments and cheering me on if you enjoyed it by any chance.
> 
> Byleth's introduction to the tradition is in this mini piece here: [It's a Faerghus thing](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23859517). It's the one Felix mentioned XD


	2. Chapter 2

The day after the Miklan incident is a Sunday. Felix’s routine doesn’t change on the weekends, so like always he is slashing away with his sword on the training ground.

Felix gets increasingly distracted as time drags on. He finds himself stuck by an acute tightening in the chest whenever someone walks pass on the other side of the gate. Breakfast period is almost over, Sylvain still hasn’t come, and he is starving.

Felix checks the clock one last time. There’s only ten minutes left until the end of breakfast period; Sylvain either went without him (unlikely, but not impossible), or he’s not coming. Felix puts his sword back and heads for the dining hall.

The dining hall is bustling with students who cannot wake up any earlier on a Sunday morning, who clearly dragged themselves up just in time to not miss the first meal. Felix crosses his arms impatiently as there’s an actual line now. He looks around the hall and sees some of his classmates, but not Sylvain.

He finally gets his food and finds a corner by himself. Felix finishes his plate quickly, wraps the extra sausage roll that he has asked from the kitchen staff, and heads back for his room.

As he walks pass his room, Felix starts to have some very dumb ideas, like maybe Sylvain is with a girl. His stomach turns at the thought because what kind of person would do that, when he has just witnessed one of his family members dying a horrific death? The sudden pang of pain, Felix reasons, is him feeling guilty for even entertaining that possibility.

To show that he doesn’t really believe Sylvain could be so heartless, Felix walks straight up to Sylvain’s room, and knocks on the door.

It opens, and it’s just Sylvain. He’s still in his night clothes, and without any styling his curly hair is an adorable mess.

By the power of habit, because it is the first time they see each other on that day, and because Sylvain just stands there and does nothing, Felix places one hand around Sylvain’s neck, pulls him down, and kisses him. Their lips come into contact and simply stay there, none of them moving at first, then Felix feels a tiny, reassuring push from Sylvain. He pulls away.

Sylvain smiles, a weak curve of his lips, small but genuine. He looks at Felix with a watery shine in those honey brown eyes that makes Felix want to hide away. “Good morning,” Felix averts his eyes and mutters with a scowl, pressing the paper bag into the other’s chest, “you missed breakfast.”

Sylvain catches it as he makes way for Felix to enter, “oh,” he peeks inside, “thanks.”

Felix watches Sylvain close the door and walk back to sit on his bed. He looks down again at the bag in his hand like he doesn’t know what to do with it.

“Are you okay?” Felix asks.

“…Yeah.”

Felix nearly makes a sarcastic grunt at how blatantly unconvincing it is. He leans against Sylvain’s desk at the other end of the room and watches him in silence.

Felix himself isn’t as passionate about food as many others are, but one thing he hates is watching someone force-feeding himself. There’s a certain grimness in that mechanical movement when it’s devoid of any joy, as if it was a burden to ingest the very energy that keeps them alive. It’s one of the many reasons he doesn’t like eating with the boar, although to be fair, Dimitri hides it well.

Felix looks away and is about to seriously regret his decision of bringing food when he realizes that, to his relief, Sylvain seems to get a little better. His shoulders are more relaxed now, and his swallowing doesn’t look as forced.

Ideally Felix would like to weigh his options and choose the best approach, but realistically he only knows one.

“Would you rather be alone?” He asks bluntly.

Glassy, pensive eyes blink up at him. The room falls quiet for a few seconds. “No,” Sylvain looks out the window as he answers, but for some reason Felix can still feel his gaze.

Slowly Felix lets go of the breath he’s been holding in a long, quiet exhale. “Do you want to…”

“…train with me” would be what comes most naturally to him, and in all honesty it’s not a bad one because training really takes your mind off of things, but Felix is not so insensitive as to engage Sylvain in even more fighting, not when they have just been through a particularly nasty and heartbreaking battle.

Felix considers the things that Sylvain likes. Things that wouldn’t require him to put up a façade and pretend to be okay. Things that are feasible here around the monastery.

“Yes.”

Felix snaps out of his thoughts to see Sylvain’s lips tugging slightly upwards at what must have been a long pause since the first half of the question. Sylvain is probably fine; he’s apparently still capable of being amused.

Felix is tempted to say “train with me” anyway or propose something _ridiculous_ purely out of spite now that Sylvain has unconditionally signed himself up, but contrary to popular belief, Felix is not an asshole.

“There’s a Sunday market at a village nearby. Professor said a good weapon dealer will be there so I was planning on checking it out,” Felix can feel the confidence draining out of him but it’s too late to not continue, “you can come if you want.” He frowns as he finishes the last part in a much smaller voice, more to himself than anyone else. Felix has put some serious thoughts into this, but it sounds like he’s just dragging Sylvain along for his own chore.

“I already gave my answer,” Sylvain smiles, “how far is it?”

“About an hour’s ride.”

“Are you gonna take a horse too?”

It’s increasingly difficult to get a spare horse nowadays since many students are switching into rider classes and assigned their own horses, as is Sylvain. “Oh, yeah,” Felix shrugs, “I’ll ask Dimitri. Meet at the stable in twenty?”

“Sure. See you there.”

When Felix steps out of Sylvain’s room and closes the door behind him, he gives himself a nod. Not quite a pat on the back, just a simple nod.

It’s not until they actually arrive at the market that Felix regains some confidence in his judgment. It’s a bustling place full of colorful stalls, beautiful artifacts, nice food and pretty women—things that Sylvain likes. Or at least Felix thinks he does.

Felix turns just a little to sneak another peek at Sylvain, hoping that he won’t get caught this time. Sylvain isn’t wearing his signature smile, and without it he looks calm, relaxed, but also _mildly bored_. Against all odds, he doesn’t seem to be taking much interest in his surroundings even though they are all things that he’s supposed to enjoy. He hasn’t tried to chat up any girls, which Felix understands because he is down and perhaps doesn’t want to put in the effort, but what Felix doesn’t understand is that Sylvain doesn’t even look at them—countless girls have walked pass them, many dressed up nicely for the occasion, and yet Sylvain’s eyes are only vaguely focused in the direction he’s facing when he’s not looking at Felix. If you truly like something, wouldn’t you at least want to look at it?

Sylvain’s gaze turns back and Felix gets caught again. He has probably written his confusion all over the face, because Sylvain cracks into the loving smile of a big brother, “we’ll find the weapon stall, Felix, it’s not that big of a market.”

“I wasn’t…!” Felix bites his tongue, scowling. To think that he’s the one who needs comforting.

As he glares at Sylvain and studies his smile, there’s a familiar softness in his features that makes Felix think that maybe Sylvain isn’t bored, he’s just…not pretending. They’ve changed out of the uniforms, and here in this small, faraway village no one knows who they are, just two anonymous figures in the crowd, among people they’ll never see again.

Maybe that’s why Sylvain looks at him so much. He’s probably the only one here that matters to him.

Felix cringes at the thought. It’s most likely a true statement, but for goodness’s sake, don’t put it like that.

As Felix struggles to shake it away, he feels something warm wrapping around his wrist. He looks up to see a little rise in the corner of Sylvain’s mouth. “You’re distracted,” he says with the tiniest of smirk, “don’t get lost.”

His voice is a strange mixture of genuine affection and light-hearted joking. Felix feels ridiculous; with his own hands he has slayed humans and beasts alike, and Sylvain is taking the same bloody hand to walk through the crowd like Felix was seven.

Sylvain’s fingers easily encircle his wrist, overlapping themselves by a good length. The grip is gentle but firm, slightly wrinkling up the long cuff of Felix’s sleeve, the pinkie side of Sylvain’s hand brushes against Felix’s skin as they walk. The light, transient touch, as well as the heat that slowly passes through the fine linen of his shirt, makes Felix hesitate to pull away. He can feel the fast thud of Sylvain’s heartbeat through his palm. The cold rain outside Conand Tower seems like a distant dream. The hand that’s holding him is warm. Alive.

He’ll be alright.

It turns out that, in peaceful period, regular marketgoers from nearby villages are not that interested in weapons. Which is great, because it means that Felix can take his time and flip through the swords for as long as he wants. He crouches down to take a better look, while Sylvain stands behind him and…waits.

Alright, maybe he shouldn’t take _that_ long.

The merchant has gone inside the tent, leaving a young woman to look after the booth. Felix glances up at her. Curly short hair, big green eyes, and the pure, carefree smile that can only belong to someone who’s blissfully unaware of her own beauty. She’s quite attractive, even Felix has to admit. She hasn’t noticed Felix’s gaze, though; with pupils tilted upwards, her line of sight passes straight over Felix’s head at a rather steep angle.

Ever since Felix was young, he has developed a keen sense of where someone is looking because eyes often precede action, and during battles it is the most crucial advantage to be able to predict people’s moves, be it enemy or ally.

That being said, if Felix doesn’t know any better, he would say that the object of the woman’s stare—Sylvain, is looking at _him_. Passes by the side of his neck and falls somewhere around where his left hand is, on top of a pile of swords. But he must be wrong because it doesn’t make any sense: Sylvain is standing around doing nothing, there’s a beautiful girl trying to get his attention, and today is perhaps the only day that Felix would give him a free pass. Just for today, Felix would agree to be his wingman if Sylvain had asked.

The stars have aligned, and this idiot is letting the opportunity slip by. He’s probably more down than Felix expected, isn’t he?

Felix decides that he will turn around and confirm his mistake; if his instincts were wrong, he needs to at least be aware of it so that he can get better, because a similar miscalculation on the battlefield can easily cost someone’s life.

Felix turns his head just enough to peek over his shoulder. He catches chestnut eyes looking right back at him. “Anything good?” Sylvain raises an eyebrow.

Felix’s head swings back its previous position, as if that would undo the fact that Sylvain has indeed been staring at him and that he has just turned to look at Sylvain for no apparent reason. “I’ll get this one,” Felix mutters, drawing out the sword that he had his eyes on. He pays the woman and has it wrapped up.

“It’s nice you found something.”

Felix takes over the package and flings it over his shoulder. He refuses to meet Sylvain’s eyes and only makes a grunt at the remark. “Do you want to head back?” He asks without looking at the other. Today is supposed to be about Sylvain, not him, and he has taken enough of Sylvain’s time.

“I’m hungry,” Sylvain shrugs. He leans closer to tap on Felix’s arm and make him look up. Sylvain has the same relaxed smile, and he doesn’t seem impatient or bored, which makes Felix feel slightly better. “Let’s get some food and find a place to eat?” Sylvain extends one hand towards Felix, palm facing up, the curve of his lips broadening as Felix blinks, realizes the meaning of this gesture and becomes incredibly offended.

Felix swings his arm all the way back to give the stupid hand in front of him a good, solid smack, but Sylvain is only a tad faster, retracting just in time to not get hit. He chuckles at his petty victory, and Felix glares at him.

Maybe he’s not _that_ down after all.

After a good sampling of the best street food a small-town fair has to offer, they find a quiet spot on the outskirt of the village. Harsh afternoon sun is lot more tolerable when it’s filtered through thick branches and leaves; hiding in the generous shade of an old oak tree, Felix shows off his new sword and teaches Sylvain the intricacies of blade’s patterns and how to distinguish the works of Zoltan. Sylvain listens intently with an indulgent smile, and the spark in his eyes makes Felix think that maybe, just maybe, he has finally gotten Sylvain to appreciate the craftsmanship in weapons. The legendary bladesmiths also makes lances and axes, he tells Sylvain, so he can keep an eye out next time he goes to the market.

Felix wraps the sword up and places it on the ground next to him. They have finished their meals and are resting under the tree, sitting side by side with their shoulders lightly brushing against each other. Warm spots of scattered sunlight fall around them, flickering as gentle breeze rustles the leaves. Felix glances sideways over his shoulder and for once, Sylvain isn’t looking at him. His gaze casts downwards at his knees, eyes obscured behind curly lashes.

Selfishly Felix wants to reach out and touch him, take his hand, give him a hug, feel the thumping warmth inside him until he’s well again. But he can’t, and suddenly he’s scared that he won’t be able to reach him at all.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

His voice falls quietly into the low whispering of the forest. Felix turns back and drapes arms around his own knees. He wishes he knew how to be tactful and say the things that Sylvain needs to hear, but all he ever knows about communicating is either saying nothing, or pouring his heart out.

It feels like a small fraction of eternity has passed before he hears Sylvain’s voice again.

“I don’t know why I’m like this, Felix,” Sylvain’s lips twitch but it’s not a smile, just a lopsided line of self-mockery, “I didn’t even like him.”

Felix tries to conjure an image of Miklan before any of the horrible occurrences, the Miklan as he once was. But all he can gather is a vague shadow, only with the same blaze of red hair.

“He’s still your family.”

When the thunder struck, Felix saw with his own eyes how those last strands of fiery locks too were engulfed into the abominable being. He remembers the shock, horror, and just for a split second, a selfish but genuine gratefulness that Sylvain was the one left on this side.

“If I were the one born without crest,”

“Sylvain, it doesn’t…”

“I wouldn’t even have you, Felix.”

Immediately Felix opens his mouth to refute, because what a stupid idea, to think that crest is the only thing that brought them together, that they wouldn’t be in each other’s life if not for this cursed thing that has tormented Sylvain since the day he was born, the thing that Sylvain hates so much.

His lips hang open, and he realizes that it’s true.

Felix was never introduced to Miklan.

“They let us become friends only because we are the ‘worthy’ heirs of our families.”

The words that pour out of Sylvain’s mouth are so hideous that Felix just wants it to stop. “Then crest is good for _something_ ,” he says, almost too loudly and without thinking, his voice shaking with anger, “because I would hate it if I never got to know you.”

He turns away from the consequences of his words, chest heaving as waves of raw emotions cut through his body. Shit, and he’s got sand in his eyes. Felix knots his brows as tightly as he can, forcefully blinking it away.

When his thundering heartbeats finally calm down a little, a weight finds its way on Felix’s shoulder. He feels the warmth that he misses, and a fluffiness that tickles his neck. Soft, steady breathing blows onto his collarbone, making loose strands of curly red hair wiggle in his peripheral vision.

Felix steadies himself and carefully tilts his chin to peek at the one resting on his shoulder. Sylvain’s eyes are closed, long lashes lightly brushing his cheeks with each inhale. His lips are parted naturally in a relaxed state, a faint curve tugging at the corners.

Birds are singing from afar, deep within the forest. Felix wants them to be quiet.

Carefully and awkwardly, he wraps an arm around Sylvain’s shoulder. It’s not quite the hug he wanted to give him, but this will do for now.

The ride back is more exciting than it should be. They end up staying a little too long in the village so instead of leisurely trotting, they end up cantering the entire way to race against the setting sun. Sylvain takes the opportunity to teach Felix a few horse-riding tricks, and they ride at full gallop when the road is clear. When Sylvain folds forward and looks over his shoulder to smile at Felix, the last golden rays of the day shine through his hair with sparkles of glistening orange as it dances in the wind against a sky of fire, and Felix can’t help but smile too, letting the evening breeze brush away loose hair on his forehead as he tries to balance his weight and catch up. He can’t ride quite as fast, always a horse behind Sylvain, but he’s having fun.

It is thanks to the longer days in summer that they manage to arrive at the monastery before dark. Kitchen staffs are just about to put dinner away when they stumble into the dining hall, legs still sour from the ride. They take their dinners to finish in the courtyard so that staffs can clean up without hindrance. After that they head for the bathhouse to wash off a day’s worth of dust and exhaustion, where Sylvain teases Felix for the new bruises on his thighs, to which Felix responds by splashing water in the other’s eyes.

When they walk down the second-floor corridor, Sylvain actually looks rather spirited for someone who has returned from a full-day’s trip. Part of it is because he ended up sleeping for quite a while under the tree and on Felix’s shoulder, which makes Felix suspect that he didn’t rest well last night, which again makes Felix feel horrible that he dragged Sylvain out when he was probably tired and sleepy.

As they stand outside his room, Felix debates whether he should apologize for that. Sylvain stands next to him in silence, and he seems to be debating something in his head as well. Sylvain makes up his mind faster, his gaze catching Felix’s.

“Thanks for today, Felix.”

Now that really frustrated the whole purpose of Felix’s dilemma, because he can’t quite apologize when the other has just thanked him, now can he?

“It’s nothing.” Felix grunts.

They stand there for a few more seconds, neither of them moves and neither says anything, like when Felix first opened Sylvain’s door that morning. Then slowly Sylvain raises his arm, his movement cautious and deliberate, leaving ample time for Felix to react—to run away if he wants to. Felix doesn’t, and Sylvain’s hand finds his cheek, thumb caressing along the high ridge of his cheekbone.

Then he feels it, the same, familiar lips that are extra soft tonight for having just come out of the steam room. They catch his and both are so warm and watery that they almost melt together. Sylvain sucks on his lips gently, making a quiet “chu” sound and yet lingers for a bit longer, reluctant to pull away.

Felix can feel hot breath blowing over the tip of his nose. He can smell the fresh soap in Sylvain’s hair. Felix rarely initiates a kiss and almost always lets Sylvain decide how long it will be, but tonight Sylvain doesn’t seem to want to end it.

Felix doesn’t know how long they have stayed like that or how did they finally break apart. Moonlight pours in from the corridor’s slim window, bathing them in its calm, serene aura.

“Good night.” Sylvain whispers. The low murmur sends a shudder down Felix’s spine.

Two kisses in one day. That’s a new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry the update took a little longer! I finished up some other projects and will mainly focus on this from now on.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and thanks for the kudos and comments! I had a lot of fun writing and drawing it, and it made me so happy that I can share it with you.
> 
> Also talk to me on [my twitter](https://twitter.com/lunaticality) about anything Sylvix/FE3H! I also share my other drawings there. I'm positively obsessed XD


	3. Chapter 3

He shouldn’t have said it.

He knew Sylvain tends to overplay the womanizing aspect of his character because for whatever reason he feels the need to maintain this playboy façade, which is fine, people deal with their issues in different ways, Felix understands.

But he has also grown an irrational fear that one day this disguise will become its own creature and devour Sylvain from within. That he’ll lose the real Sylvain that he knows to the false front that Sylvain wants to be seen as.

And on top of that, he just hates seeing Sylvain pretending.

To be fair, every time they enter the same space their eyes always find each other first. Even when Sylvain is in the middle of flirting with some girls, which in theory should command his full attention and yet when Felix comes within a certain radius, even if just to walk by, Sylvain’s gaze will turn to him. They will lock eyes; Felix usually glares at him, crinkling up his nose and giving him a look of disdain, and Sylvain always smiles in response, throwing in a playful wink if Felix looks particularly cranky.

The silent exchange makes Felix feel better, although in retrospect it was but a mere distraction and never really dissolved the anger that he must have been secretly accumulating. Sometimes Felix thinks of their day at the village market, when Sylvain was in a sea of women and yet saw none of them. Sometimes he wonders what is true and what isn’t.

Felix moves the mouth of his watering can to the adjacent pot so that an innocent flower doesn’t get drown because of his inner turmoil. Annette is humming a little tone over the other end of the greenhouse, her cheerfulness in stark contrast with Felix’s sulky mood.

But Felix doesn’t _really_ want to apologize because everything he said is true, that the dumb things Sylvain busies himself with is not only unproductive but downright dangerous. Even Felix has by now received some unfriendly stares from the girls Sylvain tangled with (which is ridiculous), now imagine the magnitude of evil eye cast on Mr. Don Juan himself. Someone could show up with a dagger, and he’d be known as the noble man who died the stupidest death in Fódlan’s history.

“Thank you so much for helping me, Felix!”

Felix blinks; the bright voice _forces_ his brows to unfurrow themselves because no one can stay mad at anything when Annette is in close proximity. “Mercie is making cookies today, I’ll bring you some as a thank-you gift!” She rubs her hands together, big eyes sparkling with excitement.

Felix sighs. He cannot match Annette’s level of energy even on his good days. “There’s no need.” He mumbles.

“Oh, don’t say that when you haven’t tried Mercie’s cookies,” Annette folds her arms and scowls, and when she does it she looks _so cute_ that almost makes Felix smile, “Sylvain asked to try it, but Dimitri and Ingrid told us not to give him any until he stopped messing with the girls,” Annette shrugs, “anyway I’ll bring you some! Thanks again for the help, Felix!”

Felix sniffs lightly at the anecdote. He makes a vague gesture with his hand, and watches the happy ball of orange hair bounce out of sight.

To think that Sylvain would change his way for some cookies. While childish and doomed for failure, that is nevertheless an acceptable way to get your point across. It’s much better than, say, losing your temper and calling him “insatiable”.

Felix sighs again and drags himself out of the greenhouse. The morning sun is too bright for his current mood.

As a result of their argument—if he could call it that, because it was more like one-sided bashing than anything else—Felix has lost his goodnight kisses, which Sylvain has been giving him ever since their trip to the market but stopped after they had the argument. The regular greeting kisses are a lot shorter as well, with only minimum movements on the lips, which is a good, _as they should be_ , because didn’t Felix want to talk to him a while ago and get his behavior back in line?

But no, Felix wants Sylvain to behave because he finally realizes that his misguided interpretation of their greeting tradition is misguided, not because he thinks that Felix hates him.

It’s a matter of principle.

Sparring session with professor didn’t go too well, although that hardly surprises him. Fighting against someone as good as Byleth with anything short of total concentration is never a good idea, so when Byleth lowers his sword and silently starts to untie his gauntlets Felix doesn’t even protest—he too realizes that there’s little point in continuing. No words are needed between swordsmen of their caliber; they read each other through movements, sometimes more clearly than either of them is comfortable with.

“Professor,” as if on cue, Dimitri walks in through the gate to Knight’s Hall. Byleth has his back towards the entrance; he turns halfway as if to look over his shoulder but with closed eyes, and he doesn’t flinch in the slightest when the prince touches his waist. Like a well-coordinated dance their heads tilt at the exact right angle, and their lips find each other in the most natural way.

Felix watches them sharing a kiss. He blinks. Then he blinks again.

He could swear that it’s longer than it used to be.

Felix’s jaw falls open. He is positively losing his mind.

Was he the crazy one all along? Did Faerghus pass a reform act on greeting etiquette and somehow he didn’t get the memo?

The pair have parted and are both looking back at him now, but Felix refuses to look away; he tilts his chin up and holds their gazes. This is public space and apparently _it’s_ _just greeting_ , so there’s nothing wrong with him staring, is there?

Dimitri ends up backing down first, while Byleth is still looking at him—Felix would say “in a challenging way” purely for the context, but in reality his professor’s face is as blank as always, like he is mildly clueless as to why he suddenly finds himself in a staring contest.

“Felix, can you tell Sylvain to come see me at the meeting room?”

In the short amount of time it takes to cover the distance between them, Felix couldn’t figure out if his professor’s request is a genuine coincidence or a calculated comeback. It doesn’t matter either way.

“I have no idea where he is.” Felix walks past the two of them and doesn’t look back.

It’s true; he has no idea where Sylvain is, and he would like to _not_ run into him if he could help it.

Felix heads for his room to take a short break. If he can’t stop thinking about a certain redhead, then the least he could do is _not_ allowing himself to do nothing but thinking about him. He’ll pick up training on the training ground. Wooden dummies never judge him for his level of concentration.

He cuts through the dining hall, considers getting an afternoon snack now that he’s here, and through a cracked door Felix sees half of the Blue Lions class gathered around a small kitchen table.

“What are you doing?”

The three smaller figures jump at his voice. “Oh, Felix,” Ashe lets out a long exhale, rubbing his chest with the back of his hand, “Mercedes are teaching us how to make cookies.” He waves back, the movement sends flour on his palm flying into a small mist.

“We are making some for you!” Annette grins as she tucks away a loose strand of hair, leaving a white line on the apple of her cheek, “oh, you should join us too! It’s Mercie’s secret recipe.”

Mercedes reaches out to wipe the stroke of flour from the younger girl’s face. She gives Felix an encouraging smile. Dedue turns to look at him too, nodding slightly in acknowledgement.

It would be a lie to say that he’s very interested, but Felix hates being the one who doesn’t put in the work and yet expects a share in the result. Moreover, although he would rather be alone on most days, today is one of those rare times when being with other people might help clear his mind.

Annette squeaks in excitement when Felix walks around the table and situates himself in the gap between her and Ashe. “Here, it’s simple,” she pushes the bowl in front of her towards Felix, “I’ll sift the flour and you can fold it in! Don’t overmix it, though.”

The mechanical task doesn’t require a lot of thinking; as he absent-mindedly moves the spatula and listens to the others chat about nothing and everything at the Academy, Felix can’t help but feel that it’s actually kind of nice. To him it’s always about climbing up a mountain and reaching its peak, so it’s only natural to want to dedicate as much time and energy as he could to reach that goal. But recently Felix has come to realize that he can’t sprint all the way; that it’s okay to take a break, and he has learned to let go of the guilt and anxiety when he does so.

Like when Sylvain takes him for a walk after dinner and shows him a good spot to watch the sunset. Or when Sylvain comes to tease him when Felix gets caught up in some tedious chore. Sometimes he offers to help, sometimes he doesn’t, but he always hangs around and keeps him company. It feels nice and it recharges him, so in a sense it’s _productive_ and that can’t be a bad thing.

If only he could curb his anger every time he sees him with that cursed smile plastered on his face, one that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I think that’s well-mixed,” Dedue’s voice brings Felix back to the bowl of smooth, puffy paste that is his responsibility. “Oh, right,” Mercedes reaches over the table and takes the bowl from Felix, giving him a smile and a nod, “this is going to be the base of the cookie; it’s very good as is, but you can add in some extra ingredients, too.” She divides the dough into five smaller bowls and passes one to each of them. “Have fun! I always use dried fruits and nuts, but I’m curious to see what all of you come up with.”

Annette goes for a thing called “chocolate”, a type of sweets newly introduced to Fódlan that’s quickly gaining popularity in the Empire. Ashe decides to add mint and caramel and Dedue chooses diced ginger, which honestly sounds pretty tasty. Felix wonders if he should stick to the original recipe so he can sneak Sylvain some of the cookies he so wanted to try. Another part of him wonders what else he could do.

“What about spices?” He blurts out.

The rest of the group turns to look at him with wide eyes. The silence drags on, and Felix tries his best not to frown or fidget. _Fine_ , dried fruits and nuts, he gets it, stop staring.

“Felix,” the way Dedue calls his name with the utmost seriousness will never cease to cause a small amount of apprehension in him, “that’s genius _._ ”

Either Mercedes is a great instructor or baking is just inherently enjoyable, because when they each mix in their special ingredients and mold the dough into different shapes, even Felix has to admit that it’s kind of fun. He opts for basic squares and takes no small amount of pride in cutting the dough at the exact same thickness. When he opens the oven and sees his batch turning into tiny golden bricks that looks and smells absolutely delicious, there’s a childish joy swelling up his chest like a pink bubble that won’t be popped, no matter how hard he tries.

By some miracle or thanks to beginner’s luck, his cookies come out alright. He could even say that he prefers his (and maybe Dedue’s) over the others but that’s because he doesn’t like sweets very much, and after a round of tasting Felix feels like he has had enough sugar to last him another month. His ingenious flavor is well-received by the group, too—Ashe even takes out a scrap paper and asks to write down the recipe. They taste especially nice when they are hot and fresh out of oven: the mix of spices provides just the right amount of zing to highlight the wonderfully crunchy, buttery base that Mercedes probably spent years perfecting.

The group share their cookies with each other; Felix ends up with half of his own creation, and the rest is a mix of everyone else’s flavor. When all is cleaned up, he puts them in a paper bag and heads for his room.

“Felix!”

He stops in the yard outside the dorms. He thought he’d dread that familiar voice given how much he’s been wanting to avoid him, but when he actually hears it he feels…flustered, and a little _happy_. For a second it’s just strange to see him, from a small red dot in the distance to the full-fledged man in front of him—Sylvain has been in his head all day, and suddenly he’s real.

“Hey,” Sylvain stops, his hand makes an upward movement and Felix’s heart nearly misses a beat at that, but it then turns towards himself, combing through his slightly damp hair and pushing it away from the forehead.

“Hey.”

Sylvain’s shirt is damp, too; the thin fabric sticks to his chest and heaves in rhythm with the body underneath, a faint pink color peeking through the fine cotton.

“Where have you been?” Felix’s eyes flip up at the question to see a small, tentative smile over Sylvain’s lips, “didn’t see you at the training ground.”

“I was at Knight’s Hall. Then I helped in the kitchen.”

“Ah,” Sylvain nods, “I see.”

The carefulness in Sylvain’s voice makes Felix want to kick himself for not using a softer tone. Sylvain is a good deal taller even when he slouches, and without his overdramatic nonchalance he looks unsure and a little defeated, like a shy puppy who’s cautiously approaching his grumpy owner in search of affection. It’s taking all of Felix’s reserve to not sweep him off his feet and give him a hug and tell him that he’s sorry and that he still…likes him.

“Where are you going?” Felix asks quietly. His nails unconsciously dig into the small package in his hand. The sound of paper crumpling can barely be heard over his pounding heartbeats.

“Oh, I’m heading for the stable. Gotta check on the horse before tomorrow.”

Neither of them can meet the other’s eye, each staring vaguely around the torso. Felix wants to say something and make amends, but before he can decide on what to say he sees Sylvain’s lips move at the edge of his vision, so cowardly he waits for Sylvain to speak first.

“Let’s…grab dinner later?”

“Sure.”

It’s either the speed with which he responds or the tiniest hint of eagerness in his voice, but in any case Sylvain smiles, and this time it’s finally the warm, bright one that Felix so misses.

When he gets back to his room, Felix puts the bag of cookies on the table and tries to figure out what to do with them. He hates that, once again, Sylvain is the one who makes an effort to mend their relationship even though Felix is the one at fault. This time he _needs_ to do something, if only as a simple gesture, and even if Sylvain manages to fix it before he could actually do anything.

He could just give him the whole bag. He could do that tonight, at dinner. But a small part of him wants to wrap the ones that he made in a separate bag and give _that_ to Sylvain. It’s a stupid idea, because it won’t make any difference to Sylvain—Felix would never tell him, and from a purely gastronomical perspective his cookies will only taste slightly worse than Mercedes’—but it feels different to Felix and that’s all that matters. A gesture is a gesture: an unnecessary, meaningless quest for inner peace after Sylvain has done the heavy lifting.

He smirks bitterly at the thought. It’s dumb but it’s the best he can do; he’ll ask for another piece of wrapping paper and give Sylvain his cookies tomorrow.

At the Academy, whichever class is assigned field missions can ask students from other classes to help with that particular battle. Such is the system, although Felix suspects that in reality Golden Deer is the only class that ever takes advantage of it: both Dimitri and Edelgard are too proud to admit that their own team is anything less than perfect. By contrast Claude is ruthlessly pragmatic; he’ll stack his odds for as high as possible, and he sure wouldn’t hesitate to borrow a good cavalier if he thinks he needs one.

And out of all the riders at the school, he picked Sylvain.

Felix regrets not giving his cookies away last night when he had the chance. Just wrap it up, knock on Sylvain’s door, throw it in and be done with it, because the small package now sits on his table like a freaking omen, “the gift that can never be given” or some melodramatic shit like that, it’s making him nervous and for the love of Goddess, he can’t stop thinking about it.

Sylvain will be fine. Even though he does have a tendency to place himself between harm and his teammates, and now that he’s on horseback the mobility only enables him to cover more grounds and put himself at greater risks, and with the new heavy armor if he ever gets knocked down he’d be a piece of meat on the chopping block…

Felix lowers his arm, takes a deep breath and tries to ignore the fact that his sword is slightly shaking. Sylvain is stronger than he lets on, and he knows some of the Golden Deer people too, they’ll look out for him. Who’s their healer again, the quiet one with blue hair?

Felix looks up to check the clock. He’s not getting a lot of training done. For a second he’s tempted to abandon his plan altogether and wait at the gate like a silly princess, but unlike Sylvain he won’t have a good excuse—it would become painfully obvious that he’s there, _waiting_.

In the end Felix finds an acceptable compromise thanks to the specific configuration of the monastery: he’ll move to Knight’s Hall and continue his training there, and since it’s close to the stable he’ll be alerted by the commotion when horses are returned.

Satisfied with the plan, Felix adjusts his grip one last time, and takes all his worry out on the dummy in front of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why I thought I could get away without the Dimileth tag, but yeah, it's up there now.
> 
> Sorry this chapter doesn't have any Sylvix smooches! There will be a lot in the next one to make up for it ;3
> 
> Thank you again so so much for reading and leaving kudos/comments! Reading them always puts a smile on my face. I thoroughly enjoyed creating this, and it's all thanks to you <3


	4. Chapter 4

It’s the dumbest thing in the world, worrying about someone.

You know that there’s only a small chance that bad things will happen, and that on most days the one you care about is going to be fine. You are also perfectly aware that things are out of your hand anyway, that whatever happens will happen, and that _you_ worrying changes absolutely nothing.

Reason are not completely gone, but they sit there and watch with pity. It’s a one-way tunnel to get stuck in. An endless torture as every second, every single one of them, silently ticks by.

Felix would like to think that he has nerves of steel and that he’s too practical to be affected by useless stuffs like this, but he’s not there yet, apparently. As things stand, he’s juggling four seemingly impossible tasks all at once: keeping himself straight, holding on to his sword, remembering to breathe, and not letting his mind spiral down to that day, when it all ended in the most gruesome, blood-drenched way that paled his worst imaginations, when he suddenly found himself in a horrendous nightmare that became his reality.

He wants to give his sword another swing and prove to himself that he has long outgrown that memory and buried it all, that he’s fine, and he’s training like he always does. This is like any other day. He _doesn’t_ worry.

A shiver runs down his body. Since when did the summer start to fade away?

Felix sniffs bitterly as he stays perfectly still and tries to take another deep breath. Worry and fear feeds itself; the more you let it, the deeper you sink. Don’t think about it.

Don’t think about it.

Felix looks around to try find some distraction, and out of the corner of his eyes he sees a familiar splash of royal blue. Dimitri catches his eyes before he can look away.

Right, the boar likes to hang around Knight’s Hall.

Felix waits for the prince to come to him. Dimitri’s hand lands on his shoulder when he’s close enough; he leans in, while Felix tilts his head up and closes his eyes. That’s it, their simplified version of “the dance”. Felix has considered, on multiple occasions and throughout the years, about stopping this stupid ritual and not letting Dimitri kiss him again. But they’ve been greeting each other like this for too long that it has become second nature, his body turning autopilot once the other gives the signal, like a piece of damned muscle memory he can’t get rid of.

Their lips connect and disconnect. He doesn’t feel a thing.

Felix can’t help but wonder if their old way of greeting is, as a matter of fact, _completely normal_. People greet each other by pressing certain parts of their bodies together, and how come lips are that much different from hands or cheeks?

“A quiet Sunday, huh? We’ve been getting the major tasks, so they are assigning smaller missions to other classes.” Dimitri glances around them and comments out of nowhere, really. “I asked Claude to look after Sylvain. If he injures any of my people I’m never lending him anyone again.”

Felix huffs, crooking one eyebrow, “is that up to you?”

The prince shakes head, “I’ll go around and tell everyone to say no to him.”

Dimitri is so royally serious in everything he says that to someone as humorless as Felix, it can be one of the few things that he genuinely finds funny. Felix looks away as he fails to contain a smirk, and Dimitri smiles, too, “Claude said it’s just some bandits near the border. They’ll be fine.”

Now Felix is positive that the boar can’t read his mind—if only he could, because then things would go a lot smoother between them. Felix would never admit it, but it still _does_ feel nice to share a chuckle with him, to be reminded of why they are friends in the first place and to know that they are thinking about the same person. Dimitri is, after all, probably among the very few people that get to see the Sylvain like Felix does.

That being said, him and Dimitri is a whole other can of worms that he would rather not open right now. Luckily, the great thing about Dimitri is that he never pushes it. “Do you want to spar?” The taller one asks, turning away to head for the weapon rack.

Felix snorts at such obvious question, “are you ready to get beaten up?”

“Not if I use a lance.”

“Use your fucking lance, then.” Felix hisses.

“I need to practice swords more,” the prince replies calmly, feeling the weapon in his hand as he adjusts his grip. With a light yet firm swing he turns to face Felix, the azure cape sweeping an elegant circle around him, making everything he does a lot cooler and awe-inspiring than it really has any rights to be.

“Come at me.”

Since Dimitri insists on using a sword, Felix now feels obligated to defeat him and back up his big words. He manages to do it, although it hasn’t been easy. Dimitri is insanely strong and very talented—which is great, because to Felix it’s only fun to fight someone as good as he is.

Byleth ends up calling for a break and pulling both of them to lunch. It’s not as awkward as last time since all they talk about is sword, the one thing all three of them share a huge passion for. Felix tells Byleth about his great find at the village market. He also warns him not to let the boar use his more precious blades because the prince has been breaking them left and right ever since he was a child. Felix can tell that for a short second Dimitri considered retaliating by telling the story of how little Felix would go to Sylvain and cry every time he lost a fight, but his death stare across the table was enough to convince him not to.

After lunch, Felix returns to Knight’s Hall by himself to take care of his weapon. He feels better than he did in the morning, although what little improvement is slowly losing itself as time passes by. He sits in the corner and rubs hard at a particularly persistent blot of rust. The group left early morning, and they still haven’t come back.

Felix’s heart gets caught in his throat when he perks up his ears and catches the faintest resemblance of commotion in the far distance. The all-too-familiar cacophony of people, weapons and horses grows louder as it draws near, and Felix almost drops his bottle of oil when he sees Claude walking pass the gate. He’s talking to someone and facing away from him; Felix can’t figure out his expression before he gets out of view.

In the time it takes Felix to get up and approach the gate, more familiar faces pass by. They look gloomy and many are covered in blood, although judging from their walk and postures none are severely injured. A girl is sobbing into her palms while others try to comfort her, her tear and blood mixing into an eerie shade of pink as it runs down her cheeks.

Felix knows what a triumphant return looks like, and it’s not this.

His heart pounds harder against his chest when the crowd starts to thin out. Impatient to see the result be it heaven or hell, he rushes out the gate to look for the remainder of the group.

When Felix finds that blaze of red hair, alive and well, frankly he just feels silly. Of fucking course Sylvain would trail at the _very_ end, dragging out Felix’s dumb misery for every single second of its worth. Enraged, he is determined to turn away but Sylvain’s eyes catch him immediately as if he had called out his name, and the way his face brightens up pins Felix in place. Like a beam of light that washes over him, a joy in the color of warm apricot paints Sylvain’s cheeks and spreads to the very tips of his curly hair, bouncing off into the sunshine as he starts to run towards him.

Felix stands there and watches. Sylvain looks a bit clumsy in his new armor, each step followed by loud clanks of metal boots stomping on the stone pavement, but his movement seems natural, and his weight distribution looks even. His armor is intact but for a few dents and scratches. The shape, size and location of the dried blood indicate that it’s not his.

By the time Felix is done with his scan, Sylvain has stumbled across the corridor and reached his side. Felix looks up and, seeing the sparkles in those honey brown eyes, lets all his pent-up anxiety dissipate into the air in a long, relieved exhale. His brain, however, can come up with weird stuff in the rare instances when it’s too relaxed: amid a comfortable blankness left by the worries, the only thought that comes to him is that Sylvain, standing in front of him in his new big armor, tall and handsome, would make the perfect knight in any story.

Barely has Felix finished that thought when his fairytale knight pulls him into the most uncomfortable hug. Sylvain’s iron shoulder bumps into his face, his chest piece cuts into Felix’s ribs through his thin shirt, and yet inexplicably he slings his arms around Sylvain’s neck and tries to pull him even closer as if the pain wasn’t enough. Before Felix gets hurt, Sylvain holds on to his waist and pull him away just enough so they can face each other.

“Felix,” Sylvain smiles with such full, overflowing contentment that it ceases to be sexy and turns into a toothy, childish grin, but Felix would pick this dazzling sunlight of a smile over anything Sylvain ever puts on his face. He stares at it, dazed by its brightness, and when the red-haired knight leans in to kiss him, he tilts his head up to meet his lips.

Maybe the Faerghus tradition exists for a reason and it’s not as dumb as Felix thought, because neither a hug nor a handshake can convey the _I miss you_ and _I worry about you_ and _thank Goddess you are alive_ like a kiss does. He melts into the warmth and softness of when their lips slowly drag across each other’s, his mind fading into a soothing fuzziness in the heat of Sylvain’s ragged breathing. Sylvain smells of sweat and blood and him, rust and oil, but the thing they nourish between their lips is sweet and pure, and Felix can’t help but suck into it, one hand gently caressing Sylvain’s sun-kissed cheeks, while the other slides down to rub at the side of his neck, where the quickened pulse beats hard against Felix’s palm.

It’s the first time Felix ever returns a kiss. To be fair he did expect it to be different, in the same way that hitting a dummy and sparring with someone feels totally different—because when both parts are moving it becomes more intense, that’s just how things work. But when he tries to imitate what Sylvain does to him, lightly nibbling at the other’s lips and making small suctions as Sylvain sucks back at him, the electric sensation, along with the wet slurpy sound that makes his face burn, is so damn overwhelming that Felix doesn’t know how to feel. Part of him wishes he never did that, while another part longs to stay for hours.

Sylvain cradles his face in both hands, the coarse suede on the inside of his gauntlets feeling rough against Felix’s skin, but Felix needs them to stay there because his face is so incredibly hot he knows for a fact that he must looks like a ripe tomato. This is embarrassing; now that he thinks about it, it’s a good thing Sylvain chose to walk at the very end, when the rest of the group is way ahead and no one is watching.

But alas, there’s no stopping Sylvain from seeing him, and that’s the price he’ll have to pay. Sylvain chuckles darkly at Felix’s furious blushing. He’s still smiling and there’s plenty of joy in it, but it looks different without the innocence. Felix looks down, turns his head away and tries to push some distance between them, but with an arm wrapped around his waist Sylvain refuses to let go. His free hand cups Felix’s chin, tilting it up to look at him.

“Were you waiting for me?” Sylvain’s voice drops to a low whisper, a devious smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“No,” because what a bold assumption for him to make, “I finished training in the Knight’s Hall. Was just walking by.”

Sylvain makes an amused sound at that, his lips inexplicably curving up even more. “Alright then,” he nods, “since you are done training, come help me take off this thing.”

With that he grabs Felix’s wrist, and basically drags him across the main hall.

“Alright, _fine_ , I’ll follow you, let go of me.” He protests.

“Nope, it’s faster this way.” Sylvain looks over his shoulder and smirks back at him, “man, this armor is so heavy, I can’t wait to get out of it.”

People say that you can grab any kid on the street of Faerghus and he’d know the inner works of a knight’s armor like the back of his hand. Felix isn’t sure if that’s completely true, but he did learn it when he was little, even though he ends up not wearing full armor himself when he grew up. He tried it, and he hated it.

With no need for instructions, Felix walks circles around Sylvain, maneuvering his limbs like a mannequin, untying and taking off pieces one after another. While Felix does the work, Sylvain _could_ simply stand there and face forward like a normal knight would, but of course he is craning his neck and twisting his head around, following Felix’s every movement with a big grin on his face. Felix can feel hot air blowing onto his forehead when he reaches under Sylvain’s arm to undo the shoulder piece. Sylvain’s room feels small, and they are too close like this.

“What are you grinning like an idiot for?” Felix scowls.

“Oh, it’s just like,” Sylvain tilts his head back to peek at Felix, “like we’re married.”

If Felix is shaken by those words, he doesn’t show it. “Do you always want to marry the one who helps with your armor?”

“ _No_ , but…”

Felix pulls the straps of the chest piece harder than he needs to, turning the smug, seductive smirk on the redhead’s face into a quiet “ouch”. His smile climbs back fast enough, though.

“Who helped you putting it on?”

“Ah, we gathered at the stable this morning and put it on together.” Sylvain rolls his shoulders and stretches his arms once the breastplate is gone, letting out a long, satisfied sigh. “That feels _so_ good. Thanks, honey.”

Felix lifts the metal plate in his hands as if to throw it, and Sylvain hurries to raise his forearms, shielding himself with the arm harness he still has on. Felix can see his shameless grin through the crack.

It is at that moment when he hears a loud, rumbling sound. Sylvain scratches his head; out of all his shenanigans _this_ is the one he feels embarrassed about. He glances at the clock. “Ugh, it’s too early for dinner. I’m so hungry.” Sylvain pouts as he sits down, and starts to remove final pieces on his arms and legs.

“Go to the kitchen and ask for something.”

“But I’m so tired, I don’t wanna move.” He whines.

Felix rolls his eyes, but inside he’s struggling so hard not to reach out and ruffle the fluffy ball of red hair in front of him. “You are impossible,” he sighs, “I have something. Wait here.”

Felix gets back to his room to see the two bags of cookies sitting on his desk, first-hand witnesses of his useless worries that he needs to get rid of. He debates which one to take, and quickly settles for the one he packed up last night. To be honest he’s forgetting what they taste like and steadily losing confidence in the only batch of cookies he ever baked in his life, but what the hell, he even took a paper and spent time wrapping it, and if there’s one thing the Faerghus people have a high tolerance for, it’s bad food.

When he gets back, Sylvain has taken off the padded jacket underneath his armor. He is wiping himself with a damp towel when Felix tosses him the small package. He catches it and turns it around in one hand, “what is this?”

“Food.”

Sylvain gives Felix a look for his unhelpfulness. He opens it to see two neatly stacked rows of butter cookies. “Cookies? Where did you get these?”

In the short amount of time it took him to go back and forth, Felix couldn’t think of a very good cover. He was hoping that Sylvain wouldn’t ask. “Some kid in the monastery gave it to me.” He mumbles.

Sylvain arches an eyebrow. Regardless, he picks one out and takes a bite.

Felix can hear the nice crunchy sound as he anxiously waits for a verdict. After a few seconds, Sylvain’s eyes widen in surprise when the flavor hits, a small, excited squeal escaping him. “Shit, Felix,” he hurries to talk with his mouth still full, “this is good!”

Felix huffs lightly, trying everything in his power to not seem too pleased with himself. But Sylvain is not done praising him yet; he puts the other half in his mouth and even closes his eyes as he bites into it, raising his shoulders like he always does when he gets to eat his favorite dish. “Seriously, Felix, this is _so good_ ,” Sylvain beams, swallowing his mouthful with a satisfied _ah-_ , “you should sell the recipe to a bakery or something, people would line up for this.”

Felix sniffs, nonchalantly looking out the window. He’s physically incapable of stopping himself from smiling now. “You are too dramatic.”

He hears no respond but the sound of paper crumpling. Felix turns back to see Sylvain carefully wraps up the rest of the cookies, looking so small in his large hands. “What,” he frowns, “are you just one cookie away from not being hungry?”

“Oh, I’m still hungry,” Sylvain smiles slyly, “but these _handmade_ cookies are too precious to gorge down all at once. I’ll take my time savoring each and every one of these, you know, _handmade_ cookies.”

All cookies in Fódlan are handmade as far as Felix knows. He can’t see why Sylvain is trying to rub that in his face.

“Unless,” Sylvain’s eyes light up like he has just thought of a brilliant idea, “you promise to make me some more?”

Felix’s first instinct is to resist the inevitable defeat, to commit to his story and come up with details that make it more believable. But that would be positively _lying_ instead of making a harmless excuse, and Felix hates the idea of lying to Sylvain when he’s here to make amends in the first place. Also, he’s pretty sure his lie wouldn’t work. His face is growing hot, ready to betray him again.

He has passed Sylvain the cookies and even gave away more details than he intended to, so his job is really more than done by now. “Your armor is off,” Felix snaps, “I’m leaving.”

He turns and heads for the door, but Sylvain catches him from behind before he could take a third step, “wait, Felix,” with an arm hooked around his waist again Sylvain pulls him to the side, blocking Felix’s way with his shoulders, “you haven’t told me what the cookies are for.”

“You said you were hungry.”

“ _Felix_ ,” Sylvain narrow his eyes and leans closer, “what did you _make_ _me_ these cookies for?”

For a split second Felix seriously contemplated the possibility of pushing Sylvain out of the way and making a dash for the door. But he’s not a child anymore; real adults face the consequences of their actions, and they talk things through. “I…” he gulps, forcing himself to look Sylvain in the eyes but only for a brief second, “I’m…sorry. That I called you names.”

Out of the corner of his eyes he feels Sylvain’s expression softens. It’s too tender, and that makes it even harder to meet his gaze.

“…the ‘insatiable’ one?”

Felix cringes at hearing that word again. He purses his lips tight and gives a shallow nod.

Sylvain sighs quietly. “It’s okay,” he whispers, his hand moves up from Felix’s waist, rubbing back and forth along his lower back, his thumb pressing into Felix’s spine. It tickles, which makes Felix arch his back, inadvertently pushing himself further into the taller one’s arms. Sylvain smiles, his other hand holding Felix’s chin up while he dips down until their noses are touching.

“You kissed me back today,” he murmurs in a deep voice, practically against Felix’s lips, the low vibration sends chills down his body. “Is that part of your apology, too?”

Felix wants to tell Sylvain that if he really wants answers he needs to back off and talk like normal people, but he’s also convinced that if he makes any movement, any at all, their lips will come into touch.

But that really is inevitable, even though there isn’t any excuse he could possibly fit this under—they just had their greeting kiss, and it is only late afternoon. Sylvain kisses him because he wants to. And he doesn’t push him away because…?

That is as far as Felix manages to go before all thinking falls to shambles. Sylvain takes his time and kisses him slowly, his lips brushing against Felix’s so light that they are on the verge of breaking contact. He maps the shape of Felix’s mouth with his lips, carefully grazing over every curve and turn, tilting his head to kiss the corner of Felix’s mouth as he nuzzles sweetly against his cheeks. The featherlight touch is like a faint whisper, tempting, making Felix wants to come closer just so he could hear it.

He lifts his face up and draws into the touch. Sylvain chuckles, pressing ever so slightly against his mouth. He holds Felix’s lower lip between his own, languidly rolling into it, covering every single inch of it with a softness that melts them together.

“Felix,” he breathes out a low whimper, “kiss me again.”

Felix obeys, like he had been waiting. Sylvain’s lips dig into his as he tilts his head to get a better angle, allowing Sylvain to reach so deep into the seam between Felix’s lips that he has no choice but to push back, crushing them together, hungrily savoring Sylvain’s lips as Sylvain bites into his.

If their greeting kiss is a lit candle, this is an entire torch. The scorching flame shots through Felix’s body, its fire crackling below his stomach and burning his inside. Amid the fevered exchange of soft flesh, low grunts and insufferable heat, Felix isn’t entirely sure if Sylvain’s lips are all that his mouth is touching, but he couldn’t care less.

Felix crosses his arms behind Sylvain’s back to yank him closer, and as he does he bumps into something even though Sylvain isn’t wearing his armor anymore. The momentum of his movement carries him forward, and soon enough there can be no mistake as to what it is.

Felix lets out a startled sound and tries to pull back. Sylvain’s hold on him tightens for a brief second, resisting, locking him in place and begging him to stay, but Felix insists, and Sylvain lets go.

This is wrong. They shouldn’t be doing this.

Felix would say that he looks very pale at that moment for how mortified he is, but the heat is not so easily quenched, and he’s still unbearably hot that his entire body is probably pink. Not that it matters; Sylvain stands one step away from him, staring straight down and seeing nothing but his own feet. He awkwardly shuffles to the side so that he no longer appears to be trapping Felix, his chest heaving heavily as he moves his hands and tries to explain.

“It’s all my fault, it’s…the post-battle thing,” he peeks at Felix through curly lashes, his face a shade of dark orange not unlike his hair, “you know, like, when you get too excited during battle and just…can’t let off the steam.”

Felix does, so he only nods. They stand there facing each other but neither dares to meet the other’s eyes, the sound of their uneven breathing too loud in the dead silence.

“Get some rest,” Felix mutters, before he turns away and flees the room.

Felix never really wishes to have his room right next to Sylvain’s, because living one room away is perfectly convenient when he needs to grab him, and also because Sylvain’s real next-door neighbor often complains about the more proactive girls that come banging on his door. But Felix doesn’t want to be far away either, up until now, when he’s back in the confines of his own quarters and still feels that there is _not_ enough distance between them for him to cool down. Felix curls up in his bed facing the other side, struggling to shake away Sylvain’s presence that somehow manages to seep through two solid stone walls and the entirety of Dimitri’s room.

Felix shifts again, crinkling the blanket underneath him. He has been tossing and turning for a while now, but the fire, burning so persistently under his skin, shows no signs of getting down on its own. The prospect that he’ll have to do it himself, on the other hand, is becoming uncomfortably real.

Sylvain just came back from battle; what is _his_ excuse?

Ever so ruthless to no one but himself, Felix tries to put it out by drowning himself in shame, guilt and utter disgust, to think that he’d feel this way towards his best friend and betray everyone’s expectations when the more worthy one has long passed away. It almost worked, if only those faces had not so spinelessly faded into a blur as quickly as they have appeared, leaving but a single red one.

His mind slips into a blissful hell at the thought of Sylvain, of the kiss they just shared, of the heavenly warmth, and the indescribable restlessness he feels whenever he’s close. Everything is vividly flushing back to him, and it has become painfully obvious that there’s no easy way out of this. With a desperate grunt Felix buries his face in the pillow, and reaches between his legs.

He doesn’t want to think about anyone he knows in real life because that’s gross and disrespectful, so he tries to conjure a fictional character, like a maiden from those books that the boys not-so-discretely pass under the desks—but he has only seen the covers in fleeting glances (which are just regular book covers). He never actually read any.

In the end, all Felix can think of is someone from a story that he read a long time ago, a red-haired knight, tall and handsome, a genuinely beautiful soul under all layers of pretense, with his stupidly charming smile that turns into a dark smirk when he kisses him for too long.

The fire loves that image, way more than the guilt trip Felix tried to force upon it, and it burns happily, its flames roaring through Felix’s veins, carrying him higher and higher until the damp thoughts can’t catch him anymore. Felix chases after that blinding pleasure, muffling the embarrassing sound that flows out of him. In his pleasure-induced haze he vaguely thinks about Sylvain, so close that he’s practically within earshot, just one room away.

What is he doing now?

Who is he thinking about? Some girls?

Him?

With a suppressed groan Felix is pushed off the edge, his release splashing over his fingers and dripping messily onto the sheets. The sticky substance cools down faster than he imagines, his cold reason rapidly creeping up on him even though he has barely riden out of his high.

He doesn’t want to think about it, but here they are. The guilt and shame, he already knows. But what’s this new thing that looks warm and shiny yet hurts so fucking bad, worse than any blade that has ever cut through his skin?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanted this to be nice and pure, but alas, things got out of hands.  
> Rating has been updated although I’m never entirely sure about the difference between T and M, so if you have a clear idea of which one this fits under please let me know!
> 
> Thanks again for reading, and for leaving the kudos and comments! I never imagined creating a piece could be this much fun. Your feedback makes me smile every time <3


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